Who is lying there silently
in the darkest nook of a soul?
A desolate entity in tatters
brooding over a time
swept in the torrent of life,
a witness to the sunny days
drowning in the blackest of ocean,
a witness to the fishes of mute longings
dying in closed fishpond
and a witness too
to the feathers
drifting away from
the lifeless seagulls of dreams unrealized,
holding in bony fingers
a candle of flickering flame just kindled
while life is silently strolling to grave.
It is me within me; a phoenix
resurrecting too late.
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This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem